Page 21 of Wild Omega

He opens his mouth to complain, and I lift my eyebrows. “I’ve been in solitary confinement for months, agent—”

The older man puts out a hand to silence his partner. He shakes his head once in response to a quizzical look the man gives him. “You saw where she’s come from,” he whispers, but it’s loud enough for me to hear. “Let her take whatever she needs.”

I ignore them and slide the sunglasses on top of my head. “Sunlight could damage my eyes badly.”

The agents exchange looks. Then the senior one points me out the door and toward an exit that teems with agents, people in military camouflage, and, to my relief, omegas.

“Eleven!” O-18 squeals, breaking free of the group and running straight at me. “I was so worried about you!”

Bless her teenage heart! She throws herself at me and I hug her tightly, a choking band in my throat loosening. Who knew I had enough humanity left in me to care for these silly, adorable kids?

The wide-eyed male omega peers out from behind the girl squeezing me to death, and I reach around to pat his cheek. I’m glad to see he’s safe too, because the rarer you are, the crueler the world becomes.

I keep hold of O-18’s hand, and nod as my gaze locks with the black-haired O-9. She nods once in reply. We step out into a shadowy tunnel, where a coach pulls up with a whoosh of air suspension. I hesitate as I inspect the dark tinted windows and the omega-blue waves along the gray sides.

The agent who rescued me clears his voice. “I promise you this is a legitimate Omega Center service. They’ll never treat you like that.”

“Thank you, agent,” I murmur, before climbing the steps. The scent of fabric conditioner and pastry hits me in equal measure as I pause just inside. “Hey, Eighteen? Ask them about O-4.”

I wait on the steps as she turns back to ask a solid-looking alpha who has an air of authority.

His answer of “Who do you think sent us?” filters in through the doorway, and I relax. O-4 didn’t forget about us either, and if the OCB knows about her, that means she’s safe. I clench my hand into a victory fist, nearly dislodging the stolen wallet up my sleeve. I smile as I walk further down the aisle.

To call this a bus is an understatement. More like a house on wheels, with staff. And thankfully, it’s not nearly as dark inside as it looks from the outside. The smiling beta women gently direct us into armchairs with seatbelts. “We’re so glad we found you. Does anyone want a blanket?” one asks while holding out a neatly folded woolen throw.

No point refusing the first kindness offered in years, so I take it and tuck the folds around my damp body. “I’m hungry,” I declare, and one of the ladies brings me a warm chocolate croissant. Lucky I’m used to this kind of treatment as a famous actress; otherwise I might break down in tears.

I nod my thanks as O-9 cranes forward in her chair. “What happened to you, Eleven? We were all worried.”

I swipe crumbs off my lips with my thumb, catching a streak of lipstick on my nail. “What did they say?”

She drops her gaze nervously. “That you were having an episode.”

I snort, staring at the flaking pastry. “Sounds about right.” No reason to burden them with my pain. “My alphas are coming for me,” I mutter, before taking another bite, avoiding her gaze so I don’t have to witness the pity there. That line usually shuts most people up, but I forgot the people in this palace masquerading as a bus don’t know me.

The beta who brought me the blanket squats down at eye level. “Do you know who your alphas are, honey? If so, we can contact them for you.”

I blink at her, processing, before tapping my head. “I hear them, in here.”

The look she gets on her face is priceless, but she covers her shock with a professional smile. “Okay, we’ll talk more about it when you’re settled at the Omega Center.”

I smile thinly. “Sounds good.”

Except who’s to say this new omega center will be any better? For the normal omegas, sure, but for someone like me? A shiver runs up my spine, and I burrow deeper into the blanket.

What if I won’t ever have a place to call home?

Chapter nine

Callisto

The intercom on my phone buzzes and my paralegal’s voice filters through. “Callisto, Parker wants to see you in his office.”

I swing my chair around and hook my jacket off the backrest, silently running over the reasons the branch’s lead partner might need me. It’s a good sign he calls for me so casually.

“Am I decent?” I ask, slipping my jacket over my silk shirt and navy vest as I step into the outer part of my office.

Hale eyes me up and down and nods, curt as ever. But it’s enough. He has an eye for these things. Not as good as Ricky, though; that guy has great taste, and he’s daring enough to rock winged eyeliner and eyeshadow. I think that requires more confidence than getting up in front of a courtroom.

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